


In Like a Lion

by Cori Lannam (corilannam)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, M/M, Reconciliation, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corilannam/pseuds/Cori%20Lannam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the frozen yoghurt joints in all the world, he walked into Louis'.</p><p>Or, Louis got over Harry a long time ago. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Like a Lion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EternallyRavenclaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternallyRavenclaw/gifts).



> My dear fellow Ravenclaw, thank you for your wonderful prompts and I hope you enjoy your story! I feel like I should start with an apology. You had all lovely, Christmassy prompts, but as you may have guessed by now, this is a pinch hit and so I didn't get the assignment until Christmas was well over. So I took one of your lovely prompts and just kinda... moved it to a different holiday. And a frozen yoghurt shop. But I hope it meets the spirit of your request!

"All right, mate?" Zayn flopped down onto his elbows on the counter in front of Louis. His knapsack bulged up from his back like some kind of hump or shell, the latter of which would be appropriate for Zayn, at least. 

"All right." Louis looked up from his phone and eyed the backpack. "Got any clothes in there, or is it all condoms?"

"And lube." Zayn grinned and waggled his eyebrows. "You can't ever have too much lube. Ever."

"Yeah, I remember. It hasn't been that long, you know." He almost regretted the joke when Zayn's face fell into contrition. When the fuck did Zayn of all people start taking him seriously?

"Soz, bro," Zayn said. "You—"

"—don't need your pity, Mr. Malik." Louis cut him off with an upturned nose and a sniff loud enough to soften it into another joke. "It's hardly your fault I'm single and working a solitary shift at the fro-yo shop on Valentine's Day."

Zayn shook his head, well trained over the years to follow along with Louis' distractions. "Lou, it's gonna snow. No one in their right mind is looking for frozen yoghurt right before a blizzard. Why don't you just close up and go home? Paul won't mind."

"Paul will mind," which was true, not that Louis had ever paid much mind to what Paul minded or didn't. "Look, it's fine. There's not going to be a blizzard and I've got revision to do. Might as well get paid for it, yeah?"

"Yeah. I guess." Zayn straightened up, but still shifted from foot to foot instead of leaving for his loved-up weekend with his boyfriend.

Louis sighed. "Zayn, it's just another day. I'm glad you and Liam have plans, but you don't have to get all—"

"We're just worried. You haven't dated anyone since—"

"—I've had plenty of dates, you—"

"Yeah, more than one with the same guy?" Zayn's voice rose and his arms crossed over his chest with decisive triumph, knowing Louis had no counter for that.

Louis shrugged. They'd had the same intervention at Christmas, with Liam refereeing that time, and Louis' answer had not changed. "I'm not hung up on Harry. I'm just not going to waste my time with someone who isn't worth it. You should be proud of me."

Zayn's frown, cute as it was, was starting to prick at Louis' short fuse. "Yeah, but is anyone ever going to measure up to him in your eyes? You still idolise that little git, even after everything he did to you."

Louis stared down at the buttons on the till before lifting his gaze to meet Zayn's. His cheeks started heating before he started speaking—he hated this. Not the talking about it, but the way they still pitied him.

"Look, Harry had my heart for a long time. Then he didn't want it anymore. That's fine, it happens, I get it, I'm over it."

"Bro." Zayn raised both his eyebrows almost into his hairline. "You waited for him for a year to get to uni, and then he broke your fucking heart before Christmas."

"Yeah, and it fucking sucked back then. But it was two years ago. I'm not even mad anymore."

"Really."

Louis shrugged. His lips curved upward a little, thinking of Harry, which Zayn would misinterpret. But it was true: the pain had faded, leaving behind the old fondness he would probably never shake entirely. "He was sixteen when I left. You can't blame him for feeling differently when he finally got here and found out there was a lot more to the world than me."

"Yeah, I can," said Zayn, who had lived through it. "You better believe I can blame him just fine."

"Appreciate it, mate." Louis laughed and grabbed a cherry from the toppings bar. Zayn caught it neatly in his mouth and chewed. "But it wasn't his fault. And I promise, I'm not still waiting for him."

Zayn swallowed and stuck out his tongue. When no more cherries flew his way, he mimicked Louis' shrug. "Fine. Then I expect you to pull the next guy who walks in here. Or you're a fucking liar."

Louis paused and turned towards the door, Zayn mirroring him a second later. They waited for a few long breaths before relaxing.

"Whew. That could have gotten really fucked up," Louis said.

"You." Zayn pointed at him, unappeased. "You need to get fucked up. Or just fucked. No, wait, not just fucked, that's the whole point. Now you're fucking confusing me."

Louis had long prided himself on his ability to confuse, but his irritation was now outright blossoming under his skin, making him jumpy and intolerant. "Look, I promise when I find someone who makes me feel like I felt with Harry, I'll jump in with both feet. All right? You can leave now."

"Dunno, man, maybe we should—hey! Motherfucker!"

Louis grabbed another handful of chopped peanuts and sent them flying after the first, dozens of tiny bullets on a mission to assassinate Zayn's quiff. Zayn squealed and tried to bat them out of the air; then his hands wavered around his head, torn between preserving his meticulous gel sculpting and picking out the bits of peanut now dotting it.

"Out!" Louis made shooing motions to hasten Zayn's grumbling path to the door. "Give my love to Liam. If you're not too busy giving him something else."

Zayn paused in his cursing and the doorway to waggle his eyebrows again. Still looking like a lecher at a strip show, he finally pushed out into the blustery day. The wind slammed the shop door behind him as if to back Louis up, and Zayn trudged off past the windows. His hair retained its integrity and dignity even as his face scrunched against the icy gusts. Louis couldn't help a smile.

As the soft hum of the yoghurt machines reasserted its dominance in the empty shop, Louis' anxiety faded to a faint itch in his chest. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "Jesus, Zayn," he muttered. "You think I don't want a romantic Valentine's Day? Who's more romantic than me? Fucking nobody. But who the fuck has time?"

In some ways, Harry finishing with him and flitting off to sample new flowers was the best thing that ever happened to Louis. He had never been a natural student, but he self-medicated his grief by throwing himself into his studies for the first time in his entire life. Between endless revision dates with Liam and spending the rest of his free time at work or in rehearsals for his drama course, Louis was starting to believe he might come out of this with an actual degree. 

The fact that Harry had ruined him for anyone else just meant he could focus harder on things with concrete benefits rather than the false, ephemeral joys of a relationship.

Louis huffed a laugh and opened his eyes. He grabbed the open can of Red Bull stashed under the counter and lifted it in salute to an invisible Harry Styles. "Thanks, Haz," he murmured. "Couldn't have done it with you."

Outside, the first snowflakes had started swirling down, appearing at the top of the windows and disappearing at the bottom. A brief worry danced through the back of his brain: maybe he should close up and head home after all. But snow hardly ever got that bad in London, and he did have revision to do.

Even so, he left his backpack zipped up under the counter. His thoughts still felt jumbled, unsettled from the conversation with Zayn. He was over Harry, completely over him and proud of it—he just wished his friends would acknowledge that.

One more swig of the Red Bull finished the can. Louis yawned as if to defy it. Then he meandered to the back of the shop to drop the can in the recycle bin and make sure Zayn had clocked out properly. On his way back, he checked the yoghurt machines; the coconut was almost out, but he doubted it was worth the effort of refilling it. If anyone were crazy enough to want frozen yoghurt in the snow, they could pick a different fucking flavor.

He wandered back behind the counter, dug through his backpack, and finally slapped his creased, secondhand copy of Romeo and Juliet onto the counter. A Valentine-week assignment on Shakespeare's least romantic romance: his professor thought she was very funny. At least Louis was rather looking forward to this one; he had a few things to say about sacrificing your life on the altar of teenage love.

Taking his laptop out seemed like a lot of effort, so he grabbed one of the pens next to the till and flipped the play open, half laying on the counter as he started to read. Between the notes he was scribbling in the margins and the running commentary in his head, the gentle dingle of the shop door opening almost slid through his ears without notice. Ah, a customer after all. Suck it, Zayn.

"Mercutio or Tybalt: which one would you do?" he called without looking up. "And specify your production. No Baz Luhrman, for fuck's sake, that's too easy."

"Er," said the customer, and Louis' head snapped up. Even distracted, one syllable was all his brain needed to know that voice.

"Harry," he said, because there Harry stood, stock still on the threshold, door propped open against his elbow.

Two years had changed almost everything about Harry. The floppy curls Louis had loved to twine around his fingers now rippled down almost to Harry's shoulders. And his shoulders seemed twice as broad as when Louis had last wrapped his arms around them, and much higher off the ground. An elegant dark blue duster framed the full length of him, a far cry from the cuddly sweaters Harry had once favored.

But his eyes. Nothing had changed about his eyes as Louis stared into them, wide and stunned and glittering green as Harry opened his mouth to let out a tiny croak. "Lou," he rasped, like it hurt.

Louis stood mute, unable to respond, because it was hitting him hard, a fierce wave crashing over him with the intent to drown. He was not, as it turned out, over Harry Styles.

Luckily, he was an actor, and the pounding of his heart was audible only to his ears. He lifted his eyebrows with a small smile: cordial, but not eager. "Are you coming in, then? I wouldn't rush your decision, except I'd really like the yoghurt to be the only frozen thing in here."

Harry barked a surprised laugh and glanced down at the arm that still stuck out the door, now well dusted in snow. "Right. I—just wanted some yoghurt. Is...is that all right?"

An unwelcome rush of fondness made his eyes burn. Of course Harry would ask. "Well, we are a place of business, and frankly, you're probably the only customer we're going to get today."

Harry stepped the rest of the way into the shop and nodded. The door jangled quietly shut against his back. The nodding continued, a little too long, like he had forgotten what else to do with his head. "I wasn't really expecting you to be here at all. I mean—not you, in particular. The shop. Being open, I mean, not that I thought it would disappear into the mists like Brigadoon or summat."

Louis blinked back the jolt that ran through him at that. He'd done Brigadoon last term, though Harry was unlikely to know that, since his interest in theatre had never extended much past Louis' participation in it. 

"Nope," he managed to say after a moment. "It's a public service we offer. A safe haven for junkies desperate for their next fro-yo fix, rain or shine. Or snow."

Harry choked off another laugh, which turned into a snort, which turned into a cough. A tiny glow lit up in Louis' chest that he could still make Harry laugh. 

"That's good." Harry adjusted his scarf in an attempt to mask his smile. "I suppose I might as well admit the truth: I'm a real addict. Cold weather just makes me crave it harder."

Louis cleared his throat just as Harry blinked in realization of how that had sounded. "Right. Well, here we are to provide for your, er, needs."

He didn't bother to suppress his smirk as he watched Harry squirm until he finally let his rueful smile break out. "Well, at least we got the awkward moment over, yeah?" Harry said, shaking his head. He stepped up to the counter and pulled out his wallet. Louis' eyes fixed on it without his volition. It was the wallet Harry's stepdad had given him when he left for uni; Louis had barely had time to learn what it looked like before Harry was gone. "So, er... I'd like some yoghurt, please."

Louis shook himself out of his thoughts. "That's great." He nodded towards the opposite wall. "Cups are over there. Yoghurt is where you'd expect it to be."

"Oh." Harry turned and looked over at the bank of machines like he had never been in a yoghurt shop before. "Sure. Yeah. Of course."

He shuffled over to the cups and took an inordinate amount of time choosing what size he wanted. Or at least it seemed that way to Louis—every moment in Harry's presence seemed distorted, stretched out and amplified into something outside of real life.

Louis kept watching him. There was no one else in the shop, and it seemed useless to pretend otherwise. And Harry was still, after everything, endlessly fascinating to Louis. Maybe even more so now that so much about him was a mystery, this boy who had once had no secrets from Louis.

Armed with an extra-large cup, Harry resumed his shuffle along the row of machines and carefully read the labels over each flavor. The way he bent his head was new, a consequence of the new height, but the concentration, the careful consideration, that stirred Louis' gut with an ineffable familiarity. 

Harry paused in front of the coconut, and Louis winced, willing him to move on. Before Harry finished his examination, Louis found himself blurting, "Not that one! Afraid it's run a bit low. All you'll get out of it's a drizzle. Blech."

As he trailed off, Louis dragged his tongue over his teeth as if he could scrape the last word off it. But it was too late for that. Harry was already turning to look at him, his face a perfect deadpan to anyone who was not Louis. Slowly he looked to his right, then his left, and then back at Louis. "Yes. I can tell you must have had a run on it today."

Getting the piss taken out of him by his ex-boyfriend should not have been the highlight of Louis' recent memory, but there it was. Louis just grinned and shrugged, a shrug that Harry returned as though Louis' laziness were once again an affectionate inside joke between them. Zayn would gloat and rail at him; Zayn must never know. 

The thought of Zayn brought him back to reality. Harry's smile faded at the same moment. He took a breath as though to say something, but then only gave a tighter smile before he turned back to the yoghurt. 

"Original," he said. "That sounds very...yoghurty."

"We like to think so."

"Though as names go, not terribly...original." By the time he arrived at the final word, Harry already had his mouth stretched wide with delight at himself. His back was still turned, but Louis could hear it in his voice.

The instinct to groan in mock censure rose in his throat—and stuck there, choking off his breath. He could not keep doing this. Just Harry's presence was enough to confuse his head, but when Harry acted like this, like himself, like them—

Louis retreated to the till, leaned on the counter, and bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry glancing over his shoulder, like he was checking Louis' reaction, though why, why, why did he even care? 

Harry's head jerked back around like a rubber band in his neck had snapped. The hand holding his cup wavered for a moment; then his other hand gripped the handle for the original yoghurt and pulled down almost defiantly.

The machine groaned to life, and Louis sucked in a deep breath. By the time Harry approached the toppings bar with a haphazard tower of yoghurt, Louis had his face on again. "If you haven't tried the passionfruit boba," he said, "I think you'll like it."

"Cheers." Harry shot him a hesitant, sidelong smile. "You—"

 _You always know what I like._ Louis heard the rest of the words even as Harry snapped his jaw shut as though he had startled himself. He devoted himself to examining the fresh fruit, a frown of exaggerated concentration creasing his brow. Louis' lips tightened. At least he wasn't the only one slipping.

He turned away and left Harry to commune with the strawberries. The Bard awaited where Louis had abandoned him on the counter: that was Louis' real life. He planted his elbows back on the counter and found his place.

Reading Shakespeare was a bit of a struggle at the best of times, let alone when he was hyperaware of Harry's presence just outside his peripheral vision, a flood light he couldn't turn off. He had to read the same lines a dozen times before they resolved into any kind of sense. When he imagined them spoken on a real stage, his mind finally began to sink into the play, leaving Harry in the background.

A soft cough brought Louis back. Harry stood in front of him, the closest he had been since entering the shop, cradling his enormous cup of yoghurt in one massive hand. Not that Louis could even tell there was yoghurt in the cup; Harry had built a tower of fruit over it. At the top, he had created a little hollow where a spoonful of passionfruit boba nestled like a cache of precious gems.

"A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life," Harry murmured as Louis gingerly manhandled his yoghurt tower onto the scale.

"What? Oh," Louis said when Harry nodded toward the play Louis had once more abandoned face down on the counter. "Yeah, nothing like a little murder-suicide pact for Valentine's. That'll be eight-fifty."

"I don't know," Harry mused as he dug out his wallet again and produced a ten-pound note. "There's something to be said for being true unto death."

Though Harry hadn't managed it for a single term. Louis held out his hand for the note, but Harry just looked at him until Louis wondered if he was holding his payment hostage until Louis responded to his bizarre statement. He was feeling weirder and weirder, and the sooner he got Harry and his yoghurt out of his shop, the sooner Louis could stop dealing with the reality of him and let him fade back into unattainable memory.

"I suppose," Louis finally answered and waggled his fingers with a pointed lack of patience. 

Harry startled as though he had forgotten what they were doing there. He extended the money, but when Louis went to take it, Harry didn't let go. 

"I'm sorry," he blurted. "Louis, I'm so sorry."

Louis' mind blanked out in a flash, nothing but a glassy sheet of ice where his thoughts usually lived. He could only gape at Harry, who looked back at him with something fierce in his eyes. For the first time, Louis realised he couldn't actually read him anymore.

He inhaled sharply, jolting himself from his fugue. "I'm sorry that you're sorry," he said and yanked the tenner out of Harry's grasp. "But you don't get to do this anymore."

Harry flinched and dropped his head, mumbling something Louis couldn't make out. Probably another apology Louis didn't want. In sharp, mechanical motions, Louis rang up the sale and counted out Harry's change. He dropped the coins on the counter and pushed them across.

His mood lightened a bit when Harry scooped up the change—and then paused with his hand hovering over the tip jar. Louis could almost hear the gears screeching in Harry's curly head as he warred over whether it would be more awkward to tip Louis or not.

"Just for the record, I'm really enjoying your discomfort," Louis announced after another moment, not bothering to disguise his smirk.

To his surprise, Harry grinned and dropped the coins in. He took his yoghurt and turned away. Louis watched his back with mingled relief and sorrow; it was entirely possible this was the last time he would see Harry in his life. All the regrets he'd thought were gone returned, piled at the edge of a cliff ready to cascade down onto Louis' head as soon as Harry walked out that door.

But then Harry didn't. He walked past the door to the little tables against the far wall and sat down in a pink chair that looked too small for his lanky body. Of course, he was facing right at Louis.

As Louis watched, Harry brandished his spoon and freed a sliver of kiwi fruit from the heap. It took a moment for Louis to realise that as he chewed, Harry was watching him in return. His gaze was intense, but neither hostile nor seductive—more like he was contemplating adding Louis to the collection of part-time retail employees in his cellar.

They kept watching each other, impassive, while Harry dismantled his fruit tower berry by berry. The standoff broke only when Harry finally popped a passionfruit boba between his teeth and let out an involuntary moan of bliss. Just as Louis had known he would. 

Cheeks burning, Louis ducked his head down and scrabbled for his book. He buried his face in it with more determination than any exam had yet wrung from him. 

Not that a single word passed his eyes. Harry had finally made it down to the actual yoghurt. Louis listened to the soft smacks and slurps, practically echoing in the empty shop, until his entire nervous system threatened to overload with Harry's inescapable presence.

Desperate to move, Louis pushed himself up off the counter, dropping the book without a word, and stomped into the back to find the coconut yoghurt mix. To his dismay, when he returned, Harry leaned over to watch in fascination as Louis refilled the machine. Why Harry cared, Louis had no idea. Certainly the last time they'd seen each other, Harry hadn't found much of anything about Louis to be of interest to him. 

Guilt, most likely, Louis supposed, or pity. Harry could never have expected to encounter Louis here in a random shop. He had probably forgotten Louis existed, until the sight of him shocked Louis back into his memory.

Louis slammed the machine shut and stomped back to his spot behind the counter, which was beginning to feel more like a prison than a refuge. He glared at Harry in aimless defiance; Harry returned an amiable nod, almost like he was proud of Louis for doing his damn job.

At least, even as slow as he'd been eating, Harry's spoon was finally scraping the bottom of the cup. Harry frowned down at it before he shrugged as though dismissing the entire experience. He stood up and dropped cup and spoon into the bin by the door.

A thousand words jumbled together in Louis' throat without his will or comprehension. He swallowed them down. He wanted Harry to leave; he needed Harry to stay.

And then Harry walked past the door again, back to the stacks of cups, untouched except for the one Harry had already taken. He took another one off the same stack, the largest size again, and then paused to catch Louis' stunned gaze with a tiny smile.

"Gotta see what people can't get enough of," he said and strolled down to the coconut yogurt handle. 

Louis' brain finally exploded. His hands clutched at his head, just to make sure it was only metaphorical. "You idiot!" he shouted, making Harry jump. "That thing's been empty for three days and no one's even noticed. It's shit, total shit. Tastes like sun cream."

Harry stilled with his fingers wrapped around the handle. Then he pulled it down with determination, not letting up until he had another ragged coil of yoghurt threatening to escape its containment and destroy them all. 

Louis watched him march back to the toppings bar, brow creased with the stubborn frown that had driven his mum barmy in Harry's childhood. "You're mad," Louis announced, frustration prickling in the backs of his eyes. "Utterly mad."

"Probably," Harry agreed, almost grim as he filled every nook and cranny with the passionfruit boba, which would not be at all nice with the coconut yoghurt. He piled the top with sliced strawberries, which, Jesus, it was February, the damn things tasted like plastic.

Finally Harry plunked his creation on the scale and folded his arms across his chest. He glared at Louis as if Louis was the infuriating madman in this situation. Louis slowly shook his head, mouth hanging open, but Harry kept glaring, resolute.

"Fine, it's your money," Louis finally said. Between the nice coat and the expensive yoghurt habit, Harry must have found himself a nice sugar daddy. Well, fucking good for him. "Nine quid even, please."

Harry had the decency to wince a bit as he extracted another tenner from his wallet. Louis snapped it out of his fingers before Harry could try any funny business again. He didn't need any more bullshit apologies; he just needed Harry to go.

He met Harry's gaze, daring him to say anything as Louis dropped Harry's change directly into the tip jar. Harry said nothing, but he didn't look away, groping for his yoghurt without breaking the circuit between them. 

"Be safe getting to wherever you're going," Louis said, because out of all the things that had changed about Harry, his ability to slip on the smallest dusting of snow probably wasn't among them. Louis might not be as over Harry as he thought, but he had at least got past wishing him bodily harm. "Now please just leave? No hard feelings."

Harry's eyes finally dropped to his yoghurt. "Yeah, doesn't seem likely," he mumbled as he fumbled for a new spoon.

For an instant, Louis felt a cold stab in his gut. Sure, he'd been rude as fuck, but he hadn't meant to hurt Harry. He'd never wanted to hurt Harry—well, not for a long time, anyway.

The front windows suddenly rattled with a burst of wind. The corners of Harry's mouth twitched, and oh, so Louis could still read him. 

He looked over at what Harry had already noticed: the world outside the shop had gone a solid, violent white. "A blizzard," he muttered. "An actual fucking blizzard."

"Yep." Harry sucked some yoghurt off his spoon, glancing up at Louis. "So can I stay a bit longer? Seeing as I'm a paying customer and all?"

Louis delivered a withering glare. "I'm not throwing you out into a blizzard, for fuck's sake, Harry."

Harry hummed around his spoon, gave Louis an inscrutable look, and turned to meander back to his table. There he sat, watching Louis while Louis watched the snow rage outside.

He ought to be cursing it, he supposed. Except that his heart had already betrayed him with its relief that Harry had to stay with him a little bit longer. What his heart thought it was going to get out of it, in the end, he had no idea. But Harry was there, and that was better than his heart had got in a long time.

His mind, though, was still gibbering away at him, first demanding escape, then demanding he corner Harry and find out what exactly he was sorry for and why. It was more confusing than usual, even for Louis' brain. He blamed his traitor heart which still—all right, fine, Zayn—still wanted Harry. 

At least Harry didn't know that. He couldn't know. Maybe Louis hadn't presented a perfect picture of emotional stability just now, but he hadn't done so badly before that. He hoped.

For his part, Harry had abandoned his delicate yoghurt deconstruction and was shoveling this second helping into his mouth on grim autopilot. This time he was not staring at Louis. His concentration frown was back in place as his eyes semi-focused on the splash of pink pseudo-art on the wall. 

The howl of the wind and the odd hiss of the snow provided an unpleasant soundtrack to their fraught tableau. As Louis fidgeted, his knee bumped something under the counter and he remembered the old radio Zayn had stashed there with some mad idea of DJing summer yoghurt parties or something.

He ducked down to drag it out. When he stood up, Harry was looking directly at him again. 

"Er, do you mind if I turn on the radio?" Louis asked, and then immediately shook his head. "Wait, what am I doing? I don't actually give a fuck if you mind. You're not even supposed to be here."

To Louis' surprise, Harry snorted another loud laugh and then grinned at Louis around his spoon. Louis kept a sidelong look on Harry as he plugged in the radio. Zayn had not left any CDs in the player, and the thing was too old to have an iPod hook-up, so Louis flipped on the radio and tuned it to the first station he found.

The new Coldplay was on, and Harry immediately starting bopping to it in his chair, because of course he did. Louis ducked his head to hide his smile. He was already feeling better; the radio had been a great idea.

As soon as the song ended, the DJ started talking, and Louis realised how wrong he was. This was an absolutely horrible idea.

"And a very happy Valentine's Day once again to all our consciously coupled listeners. But now I want to take a bit of time for our friends who aren't so happily loved up today. If you've been unlucky in love, give us a call and get some--Advice for the Lonely Hearts. Ed from Oxford, you're on the air. Tell us your sorrows."

Harry was staring at the wall again, chewing on his spoon as Ed from Oxford told a long story about his sort-of girlfriend who had cheated on him with a mutual friend. Suddenly Harry sat bolt upright. The spoon skittered across the floor as Harry clapped both hands over his mouth. "Oh, my God," he said, muffled through his fingers. "Oh, my God, that's Niall."

"Niall?" It took a moment for Louis to process that. Over the last two years, it was a name he had heard even less than Harry's. Louis had never blamed Niall for choosing Harry, but Zayn had taken the sundering of their social circle particularly hard.

"Yes!" One hand stayed clamped over Harry's mouth while the other slapped at the table top. His eyes glowed at Louis from above his hand, looking huge and bright with excitement. In that instant, Louis missed him so powerfully he thought he might gasp from it.

Thank fuck Harry didn't seem to notice anything. "Niall accidentally shagged Ed's girlfriend a couple months ago," Harry went on. "Right there in Ed's flat."

"Accidentally?" Louis regained control of his face enough to raise his eyebrows.

"I mean, I'm not saying he tripped or anything. He just didn't know she was Ed's girlfriend. No one knew; Ed'd been playing it real close to his chest. And then they were at a party upstairs, and Niall had a key to Ed's flat, and, well...."

A snicker escaped Louis like a snort before he tensed. "Sounds like a great party," he muttered. _And who did you hook up with? How many parties have there been?_

Harry dropped his hand slowly, amusement fading as he gave Louis a cautious look. "So I heard. I don't really go to those kinds of parties anymore."

 _Why?_ Louis immediately wanted to ask, but he swallowed it back and just nodded with equal caution. "Yeah. Me, neither."

Harry nodded back with a faint smile. They fell silent, listening to Niall's friend finish his story and move on to his next worst disappointment. Louis slowly relaxed as the poor bloke rambled on about the rest of his tragic romantic history, and soon Harry was sneaking him furtive looks of amusement, which Louis returned.

By the time the DJ started advising him about being more careful who he gave a key to his flat, Louis was sitting cross-legged on the counter and they were openly giggling. "Your friends' problems," Harry said as Ed hung up. "Best way to get over your own."

"Yeah." Louis nodded, a little worried about how much he was smiling. But fuck it. It felt like being friends with Harry again, and he would take it, even if it was just an illusion. At least he knew he wouldn't embarrass himself again.

"Now that we've solved—well, we haven't really helped poor Ed from Oxford at all, have we? Let's see if we can completely fail one more caller. Zayn from London, tell us your problems and we will only mock you if we absolutely can't help it."

Zayn from London? That was quite a coincidence. He'd have to tell his own Zayn, who definitely had no romantic problems to speak of.

"Yeah, hi. I'm actually calling for a mate of mine. He's the greatest guy in the world, but he's been hung up on his ex for over two years now. He deserves better—and honestly, it's getting pretty annoying."

Oh, God. Louis' body froze, mouth open, like a vacuum-sealed fish. Oh, sweet baby Jesus. No. Zayn could not be doing this to him. 

"Oh, good, then we can mock him freely. This sounds like a sad case. Tell us more, Zayn."

 _Tell them nothing, Zayn._ Louis could not even look at Harry, not ever again. If he didn't look, maybe Harry would just not notice there was anything wrong. Maybe he had forgotten Zayn's voice. Maybe he had forgotten enough of Louis not to recognise him from the extremely pathetic and exaggerated story Zayn was about to tell.

Except he had to look at Harry. He was already looking at Harry, all his hopes dashed before he realised where his eyes were going. Harry sat ramrod straight, bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes as wide as they could go and laser-focused on Louis. 

"This was his childhood sweetheart. They were dating before we knew what dating was, y'know? Totally gone for each other. It was freaking nauseating, but we thought they'd be together forever. It was just a given."

Louis had to turn it off. He had to throw himself off the counter, tackle the radio to the floor and smash it into its component circuitry. But he couldn't move. This was literally the worst-case scenario of his life, and he just sat there, paralysed.

"Aw, sounds super sweet. Can't even imagine what happened to bust up two lovebirds like that. So what went down?"

"Well, his boyfriend was a year below us. When we went off to uni, my friend lived like a monk our whole first year. Just waiting, y'know? But the next year, his boyfriend started going to all these parties, not paying any attention to Lou—to my mate. He wasn't cheating, but damn close. He was certainly interested in a lot of people who weren't my friend. So finally the git told my mate that they were done, that he didn't want to be tied down so young, wanted to go meet new people and do whatever he wanted with them. And that was right before my mate's birthday, too."

Harry's gaze still locked with his, though now Harry looked like he also wished he could move away. His eyes had gone glossy and sad, which made Louis' chest go tight and miserable.

"Holy—well, wow. I mean, what an arse, yeah?"

"Yeah, such an arse, you have no idea."

No, he wasn't an arse. Harry had just been a boy, in love with the world, in love with love. Even in the worst of his anger and grief, Louis couldn't blame him for not also being in love with Louis. Yeah, Louis waited, but Harry could not be bound by Louis' expectations. It was what it was, and he didn't deserve to hear this.

Slowly he shook his head and hoped Harry would understand.

"So your friend is still hung up on this bellend, you said? Do we need to stage an intervention for the poor sod?"

Louis' head whipped around to glare at the radio. And Harry really didn't need to hear this. 

He started to stretch his arm out to grab at the radio, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught Harry shaking his head. He had a tiny smile on his lips as if to say that fair was fair, and—dammit. Louis subsided, pride throbbing.

"Believe me, we've tried. But he just can't let go. It's really pitiful."

This time Louis shook his head much harder. Because no, absolutely not, he had let go just fine, thank you. He was not hung up on Harry. He was not pitiful. He was not.

"I mean, he's not a monk anymore, he's pulled his fair share. He's well fit, a real romantic, guys and girls chase him like crazy. But I don't think he's ever seen the same person twice. Like, ever."

Louis' hands joined his head shaking, moving back and forth in vehement negation. Lies, such lies. He had dated plenty of people more than once. At least a few, definitely at least one. 

Harry nodded sombrely like he believed Louis, but the quirk of his lips mocked him. Louis' silent denials slowed and finally stopped as Zayn piled on the details about Louis' ragged trail of romantic non-starters. His hands fell into his lap and his head drooped, accepting his humiliation. At least he could make Harry laugh one more time before they parted.

"So you said interventions haven't worked at all?"

"Nah. He keeps saying that he hasn't met anyone that made him feel like Har—like his ex made him feel, and he doesn't want to waste time dating someone less than that."

"Look, I gotta say, that sounds proper romantic. A little pitiful, yeah, but kind of sweet."

"Yeah, but—"

Zayn's voice cut off mid-sentence. The sudden silence rang in Louis' ears; he hadn't noticed Harry standing up or crossing the shop to the radio. He wondered if he could keep not noticing; they could remain in polite silence, pretending none of this had ever happened, like they were the strangers they should have been to each other, until the snow cleared enough for at least one of them to escape. 

Then Harry's hand closed over his knee. "Lou," he whispered, like he was afraid someone else would hear. 

"What?" Louis mumbled. He kept his head down, aware how petulant and, yes, even pitiful he looked. But it was better than looking up at Harry and seeing pity there. That would actually kill him. And then he would have to haunt himself for being such a loser.

"Was it true, what Zayn said? That you never got over me?"

"I am completely over you," he lied. It might be the lie, it might be the warmth of Harry's stomach against his knees, but Louis reckoned he had less than a minute of tear-free dignity left to him.

"I really, really hope you're lying right now," Harry said, and Louis' head bobbed up in surprise.

"What?"

Harry's eyes had already lost their battle against his tears, but they stayed steady on Louis' face. "I said I hope you're lying. I hope it's true that you never got over me. I never got over you."

Each word settled into his ears like a delicate flake of snow, no rhyme or reason to their pattern. Relief to the point of ecstasy welled up in his chest, but he choked it down with a laugh. Of course Harry was over him. That was the entire point of it all. Wasn't it?

Harry's hopeful smile drooped into a frown. It was adorable, until Harry had to dash the back of his free hand across his eyes.

"What—" Louis stopped, took a brave breath, and soldiered on. "What happened to my social butterfly? None of the nectar to your liking?"

"No." The force of Harry's blunt reply knocked Louis out of his self-pity. It knocked his guard down as well and left him feeling naked as Harry's huff of breath grazed his cheek. "I mean, everything with you felt so amazing. It was like I had glittery rainbow butterflies in my stomach all the time. And I thought...and then I...."

"You met other exciting people," Louis finished gently. "And they gave you bigger, glitterier butterflies. It's okay, Harry. I always understood that, I promise."

"No," Harry repeated with even great force. "That's just the thing. They didn't. It was just like you said, Lou. No one ever made me feel like that again. I kept thinking I just had to find the right person. I finally stopped trying, because I knew I'd already had the right person. And I just threw you away."

The end of his speech came out on a hitching breath. Louis' hands lifted on instinct to Harry's face, thumbs brushing under Harry's closed eyes. Except where Harry's hot tears wet his fingers, Louis felt numb, like he was watching himself on a stage, living out someone else's story.

"Say something," Harry choked and pressed his cheek into Louis' palm. "Please."

"I don't know what to say." The numbness was becoming a tingle, like he was finally waking up. He wanted to shake himself out until he felt real again. "I used to literally dream about this happening, Harry, but—"

"But not anymore," Harry finished for him and tried to pull away. "I get it."

Louis dug into Harry's curls and held him fast. No way was he letting Harry walk away now. Not if there was a chance, any chance at all. The curls fell looser than they had the last time Louis had touched him, but they still felt like home around his fingers.

"I had to stop dreaming." His voice felt goopy in his throat. Something was beginning to shiver in his belly: panic, excitement, desperate, desperate desire. A tiny rainbow of glittering butterflies. "But. I was lying."

Harry opened his eyes after a moment, blinking wetly at him. Louis waited for the words to finish sinking in; waited to see what would happen, heart pounding.

What happened was: Harry kissed him. A frantic, messy swoop of a kiss that had Harry's tongue sliding over Louis' lips, Louis' hands dragging him closer and knocking their foreheads together. 

Then his body figured out it was Harry, and his mouth remembered what to do. And it must have been the right thing, because Harry moaned into his mouth and kissed him harder. There it was: everything he could never feel with anyone else. The relief, the ecstasy, the goddamn butterflies.

When they broke apart, Louis didn't let go. Not that Harry made any move to take his cheek from where it pressed to Louis'. 

"I know you never blamed me for leaving," he breathed into Louis' ear, making him shiver. "I hope you won't blame me for coming back. Or...trying to. I'll try really hard, Louis."

The cool, elegant young man who had walked into the shop had melted into a pile of shivering boy in Louis' arms. Louis' boy, still the same boy he'd never managed not to love. Louis had to work his mouth against Harry's neck for a moment before he could get words out. "You don't have to try anything, love. Just stay."

"I can do that. You have no idea how hard I'm gonna do that."

Louis laughed at how Harry could still sound filthy so accidentally, and how easily his mind slid right into imagining Harry being hard and doing many things...hard. He'd better at least have picked up a few new skills in his ramblings. 

And just from the fact that he was able to think that, Louis knew they would be all right.

"Of all the frozen yoghurt joints in all the world," he mused, "you walk into mine."

"Can I tell you a secret?" Harry murmured, arms tightening around Louis like he was afraid one more secret would be too much.

Louis relaxed onto his shoulder with a soft hum, unworried. Nothing Harry could confess would outweigh the solid warmth of Harry around him. "I want to know all your secrets."

"I don't really like yoghurt. It doesn't taste that good and it feels weird in my mouth."

"What?" Louis laughed, half in confusion. "What was this meant to be, then, some ironic hipster photo op? Fro-yo in the snow?"

Harry straightened up, pulling away just enough that he could grab Louis' hands and play nervously with his fingers. "I knew you were here. I—I was walking past the shop one day, and I saw you through the window. And just like that, it hit me. All the rainbows, all the butterflies. And I knew I'd never feel them again if I didn't try to get you back."

"Harry," Louis breathed, mind blanking out again, but in the best way. In place of words, he raised Harry's fingers to his lips and kissed them. Harry visibly relaxed.

"So I turned into a right creeper," he confessed. "I kept lurking around outside, but I was too scared to let you actually see me. Plus, Zayn was always here with you, and I thought he would probably punch me before I could talk to you."

"Possibly." Giggles bubbled up in Louis like champagne. Harry had spent twenty pounds on yoghurt—and eaten it all, too—just to be with Louis. "Don't worry, though. He'll get over it. He's really missed Niall."

Harry leaned against him until their foreheads touched, his own giggles a bit giddier with relief. "I'll make Niall walk in ahead of me, then."

Which made Louis giggle again, for more reasons than Harry knew. "Can I tell you a secret, too?"

"Please." Harry hummed happily and nuzzled against his nose. 

"Before Zayn left, he made me promise I would pull the next bloke who walked into the shop, just to prove I was over you." He reckoned Zayn's head might well explode from the paradox; Louis couldn't wait to tell him.

"Jesus, then I got here just in time," Harry said and kissed him again.

Neither of them noticed when the snow stopped.


End file.
